“Not bad.”
Rurik’s voice comes from behind me. I don’t jump—somehow, I sensed his approach, a warmth at the edge of my awareness that I’m learning to recognize.
“You’re early.”
“I’m always early. I just usually hide until the dramatic entrance seems appropriately timed.” He moves to stand beside me, studying the training yard with an expression that’s almost serious. “Couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about yesterday.”
“The part where I nearly burned you alive?”
“The part where you laughed.” He turns to look at me, and for a moment, the performance drops entirely. No grin, no restless energy, no manic deflection. Just Rurik, raw and present and unexpectedly vulnerable. “You should do that more often.”
Something shifts in my chest. Not attraction—not even close. But curiosity. The unfamiliar sensation of wanting to know more about someone instead of just cataloging them as a threat or an obstacle.
“Maybe I will.”
The grin returns, but it’s softer than before. “Good. Now—“ He claps his hands, energy surging back. “Let’s see if we can get through today without any structural damage. I’ve got a bet with Zyphon, and I really don’t want to owe him anything.”
“What’s the bet?”
“That I can teach you to light a single candle before the end of the week.”
I glance at the new candle rack he’s positioned in the center of the yard. Fresh wicks. Pristine wax. Six chances to not destroy everything in sight.
“And if I can’t?”
“Then I spend a month doing his patrol routes, and he tells everyone I cried during my last name day celebration.”
“Did you cry?”
“That’s classified information.” He points at the candles. “Focus. One flame. You’ve got this.”
I extend my hand toward the nearest candle. Think about the wyvern. Think about the flame that danced in my palm this morning. Think about the warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with something I can’t quite name yet.
The candle lights.
One flame. Perfect. Controlled. Exactly what I intended.
“Ha!” Rurik actually jumps, pumping his fist like a child who’s just won a game. “Take that, Zyphon! Who’s crying now?”
I stare at the single burning flame, something dangerous kindling in my chest.
Hope.
Despite everything—despite the trauma, the nightmares, and the walls I’ve built around myself—I almost smile.
Almost.
But that’s still more than yesterday.
NINE
RURIK
I’m on my feet before my brain catches up, dragon already clawing toward the surface, centuries of battle instinct overriding the haze of sleep. Zyphon’s darkness tears through the fortress corridors—not a warning, but an alarm. The kind that means blood and fire and enemies at the gates.
Aisling.
Her name pounds through my skull with every heartbeat. Her quarters are three corridors away. Too far. Much too far.
